


making room for more regrets

by janie_tangerine



Series: some flowers bloom dead [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, Dysfunctional Relationships, Multi, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, What-If, everything you might expect if you read the Theon chapters in adwd, faint light at the far end of the tunnel, major ASOS and ADWD spoilers, this never happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-26
Updated: 2012-03-26
Packaged: 2017-11-02 13:54:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/369714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>where Robb's attempts at distancing himself from Theon fail miserably and Theon's attempts at coping with his situation aren't too much of a success, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	making room for more regrets

**Author's Note:**

> Everything belongs to GRRM and I own zilch. Not even the title, which is from Wallflowers. And uh, this is part two and there'll probably be at least a part three. Possibly a four - depends on what I decide to do at the end of part three. This works on the premise that Stannis still went to the Wall and Jon still was elected Lord Commander.

He should have never taken that first step.

Robb doesn’t only hate himself the morning after they share the bed for the first time. He hates himself for the entire following day, during which he tries to keep as much distance as he can without letting Theon out of his sight. He hates himself for the entire following week. His plans to get to Deepwood Motte are thwarted when he gets a raven from the Wall. Stannis Baratheon wants to discuss an alliance, apparently, and while Robb has enough men to do what he meant to, having that alliance would mean stop worrying about the North. It would mean being able to go back to Riverrun. It would mean finally being able to see Jeyne again, to see his heir come into the world instead of arriving later.

But it also means that while waiting for Stannis, he can’t keep Theon out of his fucking bed.

To Theon’s credit and Robb’s frustration, Theon never asked for it. It was always him offering, and Theon never accepted it at once. But he always ends up crawling under the covers, his hands always ending up tangled in Robb’s clothes, and every time Robb can’t help thinking that he looks as broken and cracked as his bleeding, pale lips (they used to be full and kiss-swollen, once). He wishes he could just _not care_ , but there’s the part where just looking at Theon these days makes him feel horrible for wanting it. The frightening thing is that even the ones between his bannermen who had been more set on wanting him dead, right now look at him with pity at most, even if it makes Robb feel less guilty – at least it’s not just him.

Sometimes he wishes he could just ignore the collateral circumstances, but he can’t, because Theon isn’t lying about anything these days. It’s plain that he means it when he says that he’d take everything back if he could, it’s plain that he means it when he says that he wouldn’t ever try to escape even if he had the chance. Robb sometimes wishes he would just say something in bad taste just for his own peace of mind, but that’s not going to happen anytime soon and he knows that.

And every damned night he raises up the covers and shares the bed, every damned night he shares it with someone who’s not his wife, and whenever he asks himself what would his father have done in his place, he comes up with no answer at all.

\--

“I wouldn’t presume to tell you how to handle your prisoners, but don’t you think that Greyjoy would be better off on the Wall, if you’re so keen on keeping him alive?”

Robb sighs – as if he hadn’t thought about it once before dismissing the idea. He thinks about how to answer without ruining his newly gained alliance. He surely can’t tell Stannis Baratheon that he actually cares about what happens to Theon from now on. The entire hostage farce has kept up because everyone thinks that the only point of it is gaining the Iron Islands; Theon’s well-being isn’t the issue everyone worries about.

“If I sent him to the Wall he’d be dead before a fortnight.”

“The Lord Commander –”

“My brother would honor my wishes, of course, but I doubt that the Lord Commander could waste his time making sure that a branded turncloak might not get killed during the night. And at the Wall he would be useless. Like this, I can try to deal with his people – without him, I have no leverage.”

“Some of your bannermen think that you can’t afford that kind of softness.” To his credit, Stannis doesn’t sound too impressed with that rumor.

“My bannermen aren’t in charge. _I_ am. If I wanted him punished, I couldn’t do worse than what Ramsay Snow has already done. And this is the last time I will speak of this.”

Stannis looks at him for a moment, and Robb thinks that there’s some respect in it.

“Stubborn as your brother,” Stannis mutters under his breath, but he isn’t saying it as if it’s a bad thing. “Very well then. I suppose we should get ready to find your hostage’s sister then.”

“We shall meet on the morrow with the others,” Robb agrees.

He’s glad that it worked out – between them, they have a big enough army to march south again. Stannis will get his throne and Robb agreed to give up his crown when that happens (not before, though), and he won’t miss it. He never wanted a throne, for that matter. He’s more than fine with being lord of Winterfell only. Now he only hopes that Asha Greyjoy isn’t made of the kind of iron her father was and that she can be reasoned with.

He runs a hand through his hair in frustration – there’s just one problem that he doesn’t know how to solve.

\--

“You do know where we’re headed for tomorrow, don’t you?” he asks Theon the next day, the both of them in Robb’s room again. Robb is sitting on the bed, Theon is standing in that corner where he attempts to go to sleep every night. Not that he stays there for long.

“For the place where my sister is, aren’t we?” Theon’s voice is carefully blank. As if he doesn’t care either way.

“Listen, I’ll have to treat with her. Taking her as another hostage would be ridiculous, not when she has all to gain from allying with me. Us. It stands to reason that – that I offer her what your father was offered.”

“It’s what anyone with some sense would do.”

“There’s just one thing, though.”

“What would that be?”

In another time, it would have sounded sarcastic.

Right now… it really doesn’t. Robb feels sick.

“ _You_.”

“Me?”

“You. That was your plan, not mine. And you’re still your father’s rightful heir – of course, I could go through with it anyway, but you know that it leaves you with nothing.”

Theon’s eyes widen as he looks at him, but then he shakes his head once. “Go ahead with it,” he says quietly. “Do you think that my people would like to see me ruling over them? Like _this_? I ruined myself to have what was mine by rights. I lost what little I had because of it. And it wasn’t worth it. I’m done.”

“Gods, where are you?” Robb asks, without even thinking about it. Theon just looks at him again, his face thin, his mouth curved down, his clothes too large.

“I mean – you _don’t_ do this. You’d have never accepted something like this, two years ago!”

Theon shakes his head again, his hands curled into fists. “I wouldn’t have,” he whispers. “You’re right. I haven’t before. Look where it brought me. And it was my luck that you never went to your uncle’s wedding. If you had gone, I’d be still at the Dreadfort sleeping with the dogs and maybe missing some more limbs. If not worse. He told me you were dead, you know?”

“He did _what_?”

“He told me you were dead along with your mother. Then he threw a lock of her hair in front of me for proof. It was covered in blood,” he whispers, his shoulders shaking all over, and Robb wishes he had known. He’d have made that bastard suffer more, before cutting his head. “I threw up. He didn’t let me wash it off,” Theon keeps on, his eyes unfocused, his hands trembling, and Robb is starting to feel scared. It’s the way he’s staring into nothing, mostly, and Robb has no idea what he should do now. He never asked for this, he doesn’t know –

“I didn’t want to believe it.” It’s barely audible, but it’s so raw that Robb can’t really just stay there and do nothing. He stands up, moves in front of Theon, puts his hands over Theon’s shaking ones. 

“I’m here,” he says, because what else should he do? Theon looks up at him again, and at least his eyes are somewhat clear now.

“Whenever I go to sleep I think I’ll wake up there,” he whispers again, and Robb is this close throw up himself. “I can’t help it – I feel like this is all some kind of dream and that – if it was, I’d just go mad for good.” He’s barely making sense by now, even if Robb gets it – gods, waking up from relative safety to Ramsay Snow laughing in front of you, ready for another round of flaying, would make most men lose their wits. And then he realizes that if Theon’s current predicament sounds like some kind of dream to him, things are far worse than he had thought.

“If I don’t – if your sister accepts my terms and you’re left with nothing… what do you want? You can’t seriously wish for the rest of your life to be like this. You can’t seriously want to be my hostage… but you _do_ , gods.” He had seen it in the way Theon’s eyes have softened the second he said it out loud.

“I told you. I’m done. You can’t think that I’d be good for anything else, if sometimes my own fucking shadow scares me.”

“Who says that it will forever?”

“Robb, don’t. Do what you will with me when this affair with my sister is over, and I’ll accept it, but don’t ask me what I want. I’m in no position to want anything.”

For a moment Robb tries to stop himself – if he does what he’s itching to do, it means that he can’t go back anymore. Until now, even while sharing a bed, even while touching, there’s been space between them. He has managed to keep a necessary distance.

Except that maybe his bannermen are right, he is too soft, but the idea of turning his back and leaving makes him feel almost ashamed.

So he grips Theon’s hands tighter and drags him forward.

He’s almost glad that he’s wearing four layers of clothes, because otherwise he’d feel the bones in Theon’s frame and he’d really rather not. But what makes his stomach clench are the five seconds or so after he locks his hands behind Theon’s shoulders, because it feels as if he’s holding a corpse. Theon goes still, so very still, his hands at his sides, and for a moment Robb thinks that he did something wrong and that he should have left it alone.

But then one of Theon’s hands reaches up for his shoulder, tentatively.

“Is this real?” he asks, as if he can’t dare letting himself think that it could be, and well. He’s gone this far, he’ll go all the way.

“It’s all real,” Robb answers, and then there’s a maimed hand closing on his neck and another pressed on the small of his back, and when his traitorous fingers reach down and tangle into Theon’s not-so-dark anymore hair, he can’t bring himself to feel too guilty about it.

“You know,” he says after a couple of minutes, figuring that by now he can come clean, “if you think that I’ll have your head after I treat with your sister, you’re wrong.” He takes a breath, wishing he had the words to say what he wants. “But I can’t do anything more than this.”

“I’m not asking for it,” Theon replies against his shoulder.

They stay in blissful silence for the next few minutes, and a part of Robb hopes that it lasts until they both are too tired to stand up. He isn’t sure that he can deal with this, mostly because he has his hands tied and he can’t say all the things he wishes he could. Not until the war is over and his brothers are found and too many other things.

Then Theon moves away, half-reluctantly. He doesn’t look at Robb and his cheeks are flushing in shame, and Robb has to bite his tongue not to say something that he might regret.

“Thank you,” he croaks before reaching down for a blanket in the corner.

Robb figures that it’s useless to keep on with the charade.

“Get into the bed,” he says.

“What –”

“That’s how it always goes, isn’t it? Just do it. And you shouldn’t sleep on the floor anyway. You’re better than that. Even now.”

\--

He does feel Theon’s ribs against his arm a few minutes later. He tries not to think about it.

Theon’s hand is wrapped around his wrist, almost painfully, but he’s sleeping and he’s not twitching or moving too much, which is probably more than Robb expects. He wishes he could sleep, but he can’t. He keeps thinking about what happened before, about Theon saying that he expects to wake up from this every second. Not to mention the speech where he gave Robb the right to do whatever he wants with something that should be his by rights.

“Sometimes I wish I could hate you,” he whispers in the dark. He can barely hear his own voice and it’s all for the best – he wouldn’t have said it if Theon had been awake.

_And gods help me, all of those times, in the end I hate myself_ , he thinks.

The worst thing is that he can’t even bring himself to regret how things have gone.

All the same, he can’t help thinking about what would have happened if Theon’s plan had worked out, and the knot in his stomach doesn’t disappear throughout the night, and not even when morning comes.

Maybe if there’s something he regrets more than anything, it’s that once he could afford to think that being a lord or a king or winning on a battlefield could solve every problem. He’s learned better than that.

Sometimes (like now) he wishes he hadn’t.


End file.
